Friday, April 04, 2025

Lessons from the Crow: Nature's clever Collaborators



Lessons from the Crow: Nature’s Clever Collaborators
By S. N. Roy
“From cawcawing defenders to cooing mimics, the humble crow reveals the power of intelligence, adaptability, and community.”


Over the years, I’ve come to admire crows not just as birds, but as intelligent and remarkably cooperative beings. My encounters with them—some direct, others observed from a distance—have often left me amazed at their ability to adapt, learn, and act collectively in the face of challenges. Let me share a few such instances that cemented this belief.

One morning in Bhopal, while I was sitting on the verandah of my bungalow in BHEL, I noticed a strange commotion. The trees lining the lawn were filled with cawcawing crows—hundreds of them, agitated and frantic. It seemed as though they were faced with an imminent threat. My gardener, busy in the vegetable patch, pointed toward the mango tree. A large snake was halfway up its trunk, dangerously close to the community nest where the crows had laid their eggs.

As is well known, crows often use a shared nesting system. They take turns sitting on their eggs, a sort of collective parenting. That morning, the entire crow community had responded to a call of danger. Crows from nearby areas flew in and surrounded the tree, shrieking in alarm, united in defense of their collective home. I called in a snake catcher, who carefully captured the snake—only to discover that it had actually swallowed a frog and wasn’t aiming for the nest at all. But to the crows, it was a clear and present danger. Once the snake was gone, the entire flock dispersed quietly to their respective perches, their mission accomplished. The episode left me deeply impressed by their sense of community and alertness.

A very different, yet equally striking, experience happened in Kolkata. I was sitting in the drawing room of our flat when I heard a peculiar sound from the tree behind the building. It was a crow, but it wasn’t cawing. It was cooing—like a cuckoo. It took me a moment to place the sound. As we know, cuckoos lay their eggs in crows’ nests and rely on crows to hatch them. I wondered if that particular crow, raised alongside a cuckoo chick, had somehow absorbed and retained the cuckoo’s calls during its formative days. It was a surprising but plausible case of cross-species mimicry—a crow that had, perhaps unwittingly, adopted part of a cuckoo’s identity.

Crows also exhibit remarkable resourcefulness in nest-building. I’ve often caught them in the act of stealing broom straws from our balcony. Not a twig or straw goes to waste. They pick, strip, and carry off bits of household material—anything that suits their purpose. To them, the city is not a challenge but a resourceful playground.

One of the most fascinating crow stories I read was about a crow in England, named Frido. An elderly woman would walk her dog around her lawn every day, holding the leash. Frido, having observed this routine closely, one day picked up the end of the leash in its beak and flew low around the lawn. The obedient dog, as if guided by an invisible hand—or rather a wing—began walking behind the crow, completing its daily round. It was an astonishing example of a bird not only mimicking human behavior but applying it in a completely novel way.

All these experiences—whether personally witnessed or read—have taught me that crows are far more than scavengers in black. They are intelligent, observant, and capable of teamwork, mimicry, and even innovation. In a world constantly changing, they have adapted seamlessly, often outwitting both nature and humans in small but telling ways.

Their sense of community, their willingness to respond to collective danger, and their ability to learn from observation are qualities we humans can take inspiration from. In them, I see a reflection of society at its best—watchful, cooperative, and endlessly inventive.

As the Mahabharata wisely reminds us:

"Apadarthe dhanam rakṣed, dārān rakṣed dhanaiḥ sadā,
Ātmanam satataṁ rakṣed, dārair api dhanair api."

“In times of trouble, protect wealth; with wealth, protect your family. But always protect your self—even if it means giving up wealth and family.”

The crows, in their instinctive wisdom, seem to live by a similar code—risking all for their shared home and community, but always vigilant and strategic in preserving their kind.


Saturday, March 29, 2025

Varahmihira and the Hidden Waters of Panipat

Varāhamihira and the Hidden Waters of Panipat

On our way back from Haridwar, we decided to take the highway via Panipat instead of Meerut. The modern superhighways, though smooth and efficient, had taken away much of the charm of traditional road travel. The once-ubiquitous roadside dhabas, known for their rustic appeal and delicious food, were now sparse. Craving a cup of tea, I asked my nephew Babai, who was driving, to stop at one of the remaining old-style dhabas.

The dhaba we chose had an air of nostalgia, with woven khatias (cots) and the scent of fresh tandoori rotis in the air. As we settled onto a khatia with our tea, I noticed an elderly farmer enjoying a leisurely hukka. The sight of endless green fields stretching out in every direction—flourishing with sugarcane, mustard, lentils, and jawar—made me appreciate the transformation agriculture had undergone.

The farmer, noticing my curiosity, started a conversation. He spoke of how farming had evolved over the years. Drip irrigation had replaced the age-old flood irrigation, and modern pressurized pipelines had improved efficiency. He credited the Bhakra Nangal Dam for this revolution, but then, with a twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward and said, "Do you know how we first found water in this land?"

His words piqued my interest. I had always believed that understanding the past was crucial to solving present challenges—a lesson I had applied in my career, from power plants to management. The farmer then began a tale that transported us to another time, another era, where knowledge was not just learned but observed from nature itself.

Tau’s Story: The Search for Water

The scorching sun hung over the kingdom of Malwa, where King Yashodharman’s court was alive with scholars and ministers. Among them sat the great Varāhamihira, a polymath whose wisdom stretched from the stars above to the soil beneath. His grasp of astronomy, mathematics, and hydrology was unmatched.

That morning, a weary traveler arrived at the court, dust-covered from his long journey.

A Student’s Desperate Plea

“Where do you come from, young one?” Varāhamihira asked, studying the visitor.

“From Punjab, Master,” the young man bowed deeply. “My name is Hira. I have come to learn from you.”

Varāhamihira smiled. “The thirst for knowledge is rare.”

Hira hesitated, then sighed. “Knowledge is not my only thirst, Master. My people suffer. We thirst for water.”

The court fell silent.

“Tell me,” Varāhamihira urged.

Hira took a deep breath. “In our land near Panipat and Kurukshetra, the rains are scarce. The wells have dried. We dig and dig, but we find only dust.”

Varāhamihira stroked his beard. “Nature never hides its secrets completely. We must read its signs.”

Hira’s voice was desperate. “Then come with me, Master! Teach me, or let us find the water together.”

Varāhamihira turned to King Yashodharman. “Your Majesty, knowledge should not remain in books—it must serve the people. I must go.”

The king, though reluctant to part with his greatest scholar, nodded. “Go, Varāhamihira. If anyone can bring water to that land, it is you.”

And so, the master and his student journeyed toward the parched lands of Panipat and Kurukshetra.


Nature’s Hidden Clues

As they traveled north, Hira eagerly listened to his master’s teachings on winds, stars, and the secrets of the earth. But when they arrived, the sight of cracked fields and abandoned wells filled him with doubt.

“Master, where do we begin? This land is dead.”

Varāhamihira knelt and picked up a handful of soil, rubbing it between his fingers. “The land is never truly dead, Hira. It is only waiting to be understood.”

They began their search.

1. The Mystery of the Green Grove

  • Amidst the barren land, Varāhamihira pointed at a solitary Peepal tree.
  • “Why does this tree thrive while everything else dies?” he asked.
  • “Its roots must reach deep,” Hira guessed.
  • “Exactly. And if its roots find water, so can we.”

2. The Ant Hills’ Secret

  • Near a dried pond, they saw tiny ants carrying damp soil.
  • “Look, Hira. These creatures dig deep for moisture.”
  • Hira’s eyes widened. “That means water is below!”

3. The Birds’ Hidden Knowledge

  • Each morning, flocks of pigeons and wild peacocks circled a particular patch of land.
  • “They sense something underground,” Varāhamihira observed.
  • “Master, then this must be where we dig!” Hira exclaimed.

The Digging Begins

Varāhamihira called the villagers. “Dig here, and do not stop until the earth yields its gift.”

The villagers hesitated. “We have dug before and found nothing.”

Hira stepped forward. “Trust my master. He has read the signs.”

With renewed hope, the digging began.

Days passed. The sun blazed. The villagers’ hands bled. Doubt crept in. But Varāhamihira remained calm.

Then, on the seventh day—

A gush of cool water burst forth!

Cheers erupted. Elders wept. Women cupped the water in their hands, pouring it over their children’s heads.

Hira looked at his master in awe. “You have given them life.”

Varāhamihira smiled. “No, Hira. The water was always here. We only learned to listen.”


A Legacy of Water and Wisdom

Before leaving, Varāhamihira taught the villagers:

  • How to build stepwells to store water.
  • How to plant trees like Peepal and Neem to mark underground reservoirs.
  • How to observe nature’s signs so they would never suffer again.

As they prepared to return to Ujjain, Hira turned to his master.

“I came seeking knowledge, but I have found something greater—wisdom.”

Varāhamihira placed a hand on his shoulder. “And wisdom, Hira, is meant to be shared.”

From that day, the lands near Panipat and Kurukshetra flourished, their people forever grateful to the man who could read the whispers of the earth.


Footnote: The Genius of Varāhamihira

Varāhamihira (505–587 CE) was one of India’s greatest astronomers and scientists. His magnum opus, Brihat Samhita, covered everything from astronomy and astrology to hydrology and meteorology. In an age without modern instruments, he used keen observation, deep knowledge of nature, and logical reasoning to solve practical problems.

His methods of water detection, based on soil types, plant growth, and animal behavior, were centuries ahead of their time and influenced Indian water conservation techniques, such as stepwells and rainwater harvesting systems.

His legacy reminds us that science is not just about knowledge—it is about using that knowledge to serve humanity.


As I finished my tea at the dhaba, I looked at the farmer and nodded. His story wasn’t just about history—it was a lesson. I had always believed in root cause analysis, in solving problems by understanding them deeply. Whether in engineering, management, or life, the answer was always there—we just had to listen.

Friday, March 21, 2025

The Whispering Skull



The Whispering Skull

Haridwar, with its flickering pyres, chanting priests, and the murmur of the sacred Ganges, has always held an air of mysticism. I had visited many times before, but never like this.

That night, unable to sleep, I slipped out of my hotel for a late-night chai near Har Ki Pauri. The city was unusually quiet, save for a few sadhus wrapped in saffron, lost in their meditations by the riverbank.

I was stirring my tea absentmindedly when a stranger took the empty seat across from me. His face was lean, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Would you like to witness a miracle?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

I chuckled nervously. "Haridwar is full of them."

"Not this kind," he said, leaning forward. "You must come now, alone. If you hesitate, the opportunity will pass forever."

Something in his tone unsettled me. I wasn’t superstitious, but I had spent my career analyzing systems, looking for the unknown within the known. The rational part of me screamed don’t go, but curiosity had its own gravity.

Slipping out of my hotel room without waking my wife, I followed him through the alleys, past the sleeping city. We drove into the darkness, toward the foothills of Rishikesh, where an ancient Kapalik Ashram awaited atop a secluded cliff.

The Talking Skull

The chamber was dimly lit, filled with the scent of burning camphor and something musky, almost animalistic. At the center, on a crude wooden table, sat a skull—yellowed with age, its hollows seeming to pulse with awareness.

The Kapalik, a tall man with a matted beard, smeared with ashes, greeted me with a knowing smile. He placed his palm over the skull, whispered an incantation, and stepped back.

A low hum filled the air.

Then—the skull spoke.

"Ask, and I shall answer."

A chill ran through me. Was this ventriloquism? A hidden speaker? Or something far older and more mysterious?

"Who… what are you?" I managed to ask.

The Kapalik smiled. "Not ‘what,’ but ‘when.’ The wisdom you seek predates even your gods."

And then he spoke of ancient knowledge.

  • Of Pope Sylvester II, the scholar-pope of the 10th century, rumored to have built a brazen head that whispered prophecies.
  • Of Hephaestus, the Greek god of fire, who crafted golden automatons that could think and move.
  • Of the Islamic polymaths who, during the golden age of Baghdad, built intricate machines capable of mimicking life.
  • Of Leonardo da Vinci, who designed a robotic knight centuries before the industrial revolution.

"Machines have spoken before," the skull intoned. "They shall speak again. And soon, they will think."

I had seen enough. I stumbled back, my heart pounding.

"It is not magic," the Kapalik said. "It is knowledge. But knowledge, when forgotten, becomes indistinguishable from magic."

The Next Day

The next morning, back in Haridwar, I tried to tell myself it had been a dream. But my mind was restless.

Then, at noon, I saw the stranger again.

"You are troubled," he said. "That is natural. But knowledge, once seen, cannot be unseen."

And with that, he reached into a cloth bag and placed a replica of the skull in front of me. Identical in size, in shape, yet somehow lifeless.

"For a sum of 5000 rupees, you may own it," he said. "And this." He handed me a small instruction manual—its pages yellowed, its text dense with diagrams and cryptic Sanskrit phrases.

I hesitated. And then, against all reason, I bought it.

Now, I Study

The skull sits on my desk as I write this, its hollow gaze fixed upon me. The instruction manual is full of strange formulas, incantations, and references to lost technologies. It speaks of resonant frequencies, of metals infused with cosmic energy, of thought being transferred into matter.

I do not know what I have brought home.

A relic? A machine? A forgotten science?

All I know is—I have not yet dared to activate it.

But soon, curiosity will win again. It always does.

And when it does… I will ask my first question.



Wednesday, March 19, 2025

दूसरे टाई सिंड्रोम

"दूसरे टाई सिंड्रोम"

रमेश हमेशा से अपने मन के मालिक थे—जब तक उनकी शादी नहीं हुई। उन्होंने प्रिय का वर्षों तक प्रेम किया था, और जब वे विवाह के बंधन में बंधे, तो वे उसे हर संभव तरीके से खुश करने के लिए उत्सुक रहने लगे। वे वही खाने लगे जो प्रिय को पसंद था, वही पहनने लगे जो उसे अच्छा लगता था, और धीरे-धीरे, उनके दोस्त भी पीछे छूटने लगे।

एक शाम, उन्हें एक औपचारिक पार्टी में जाना था। रमेश ने बड़ी सावधानी से अपने सूट के साथ एक ग्रे टाई चुनी और आईने के सामने खड़े होकर उसे ठीक करने लगे।

प्रिय ने एक नजर डाली और कहा, "क्यों न दूसरी टाई पहन लो?"

रमेश रुके, आईने में खुद को देखा और बिना कुछ कहे वापस अंदर जाकर टाई बदल ली। यह पहली बार नहीं था, और न ही आखिरी। सालों तक यह चलता रहा। उनके छोटे-बड़े फैसले, उनकी पसंद—सब प्रिय की टिप्पणियों से प्रभावित होते गए। और उन्हें यह बुरा भी नहीं लगता था, क्योंकि वे इसे प्रेम का प्रतीक मानते थे।

लेकिन समय के साथ प्राथमिकताएँ बदल जाती हैं। पहले जो बारीकियाँ प्रिय की नज़र में आती थीं, वे धीरे-धीरे धुंधली होने लगीं। अब वह उनके कपड़ों, उनकी पसंद, या उनके बढ़ते वजन पर कोई टिप्पणी नहीं करती थी।

एक दिन, रमेश जब तैयार होकर आईने के सामने खड़े हुए, तो उन्हें एहसास हुआ—प्रिय ने कुछ नहीं कहा। न टाई के रंग पर, न सूट के फिटिंग पर, न ही उनकी शकल-सूरत पर। यह ख़ामोशी पहले की गई टिप्पणियों से भी भारी लगी।

पहले तो उन्हें लगा, "क्या प्रिय अब मेरी परवाह नहीं करती?" लेकिन फिर उन्होंने समझा कि यह रिश्ते का एक नया चरण था। वह पहली वाली सतही चीज़ें अब मायने नहीं रखती थीं। उनका रिश्ता पहले से कहीं ज्यादा गहरा हो चुका था। अब प्यार का इज़हार शब्दों और दिखावे से नहीं, बल्कि एक अनकही समझदारी से हो रहा था।


"दूसरे टाई सिंड्रोम" क्या है?

रमेश की यह कहानी अनोखी नहीं है। हर रिश्ते में, हर जीवन के क्षेत्र में ऐसा होता है। शुरू में हम बाहरी चीज़ों पर ध्यान देते हैं—कपड़े, आदतें, तारीफ़ें। लेकिन समय बीतने के साथ ये बातें गौण हो जाती हैं, और हम इसे उदासीनता मान बैठते हैं। लेकिन असल में, सच्चा रिश्ता सतही चीज़ों से नहीं, बल्कि मन और आत्मा के जुड़ाव से बनता है।

यह बदलाव इतिहास और पौराणिक कथाओं में भी देखा जा सकता है। रामायण में जब रावण ने सीता का हरण किया, तो श्रीराम केवल उनके शारीरिक रूप से बिछड़ने से दुखी नहीं थे, बल्कि उनकी आत्माओं का जो बंधन था, वही छूट गया था। इसी तरह, महाभारत में द्रौपदी के लिए केवल उसकी रानी की उपाधि महत्वपूर्ण नहीं थी, बल्कि पांडवों के साथ उसका रिश्ता और आपसी सम्मान उसके जीवन की असली पूंजी थी।

व्यवसाय और नेतृत्व में भी यही सच लागू होता है। शुरुआत में कंपनियाँ अपनी छवि और दिखावे पर जोर देती हैं, लेकिन असली सफलता उनकी गहरी जड़ें—नैतिकता, विश्वास और दूरदृष्टि से मिलती है। एक कंपनी की सफलता केवल आकर्षक प्रस्तुतियों में नहीं, बल्कि उसके मज़बूत मूल्यों में होती है।


जीवन का सबक

"दूसरे टाई सिंड्रोम" हमें सिखाता है कि जो चीजें आज महत्वपूर्ण लगती हैं, वे कल अप्रासंगिक हो सकती हैं। प्रेम, दोस्ती, और करियर केवल बाहरी मान्यता पर आधारित नहीं होने चाहिए। समय के साथ सतही चीज़ें पीछे छूट जाती हैं और गहरे मूल्य अधिक महत्वपूर्ण हो जाते हैं।

तो अगली बार जब कोई आपसे कहे, "क्यों न दूसरी टाई पहन लो?"—तो मुस्कुराइए, लेकिन याद रखिए, असली रिश्ता टाई से नहीं, उस अनकहे बंधन से बनता है।

Friday, March 14, 2025

এক স্মরণীয় রাতের ভোজ


আমার গল্পের শুরুতেই বলতে চাই, আমার ইঞ্জিনিয়ারিং জীবনের সূচনা হয়েছিল ১৯৬৫ সালে, যখন আমি IIT খড়গপুর থেকে পাশ করার পর ইন্ডিয়ান অয়েল কোম্পানির গৌহাটি রিফাইনারিতে ইঞ্জিনিয়ার ট্রেইনি হিসেবে যোগ দিই। সেই সময় আমি রিফাইনারির হয়ে ফুটবল খেলতাম এবং আসামের বিভিন্ন জায়গায় ম্যাচ খেলেছি। আসামে ফুটবল তখন খুবই পপুলার ছিল, ক্রিকেট ঠিক অতোটা ছিল না!
আমাদের কলেজ জীবনে রাম বাহাদুর ছিলেন এক কিংবদন্তি। তিনি ইস্ট বেঙ্গলের হয়ে ফুটবল খেলেছেন এবং ভারতীয় দলকেও প্রতিনিধিত্ব করেছেন। পঞ্চাশের শেষ দিক থেকে ষাটের দশকের শুরুর দিকে তার ক্যারিয়ার ছিল তুঙ্গে।

তাই ১৯৬৬ সালে গৌহাটি রিফাইনারির হয়ে আমরা যখন ইন্টার আপার আসাম অয়েল কোম্পানির ফুটবল টুর্নামেন্ট খেলতে গেলাম, তখন ভাবতেই পারিনি যে শিবসাগরে ONGC দলের মুখোমুখি হতে হবে, আর তাদের কোচ হবেন স্বয়ং রাম বাহাদুর!

আপার আসামে বর্ষা লেগেই থাকে, মাঠের ঘাস লম্বা আর পিচ্ছিল। আমরা এমন মাঠে আগে কখনো খেলিনি। ফুটবলটা যেন বাউন্স করতেই চাইছিল না, কাদায় পড়ে ভারী হয়ে যাচ্ছিল। আমাদের পা আটকে যাচ্ছিল কাদায়, দৌড়াতে গিয়েও গতি তুলতে পারছিলাম না। বুট অর্ধেক কাদায় ডোবা, ক্রমশ মনে হচছে কেউ যেন পাটাকে অস্টে পৃষ্টে বেঁধে ফেলেছে,সে এক অদ্ভুত পরিস্থিতি!

আমাদের দলে ছিল আমানুল্লা, ভক্ত বাহাদুর ছেত্রী, রেবো পোদ্দার-এর মতো দাপুটে খেলোয়াড়, যারা সন্তোষ ট্রফিতে আসামকে প্রতিনিধিত্ব করে। রেবো তো একবার আমায় দেখিয়েই বলেছিল, “এই দাগটা দেখেছিস? এটা পি. বর্মনের কামড়! বাংলার এগেইনস্ট গোল করার সময় বেচারা রাগে আমায় কামড়ে দিয়েছিল! কিন্তু আমি গোলকোরেছিলাম !”পি বর্মণ তখন বাংলার গোলকিপার !

আমাদের দল শক্তিশালী ছিল, কিন্তু রাম বাহাদুরের উপস্থিতি মানসিকভাবে চাপে রেখেছিল আমাদের। ম্যাচের সময় তিনি সারাক্ষণ মাঠের বাইরে থেকে চিৎকার করছিলেন, “এগিয়ে যা! বডি ইউজ কর! বলটা ফেলে রাখিস না!”

আমি খেলছিলাম লেফট হাফব্যাক পজিশনে। খেলার সময় আমানুল্লার সঙ্গে আমার কথা হচ্ছিল -, আমানুল্লা লেফট ব্যাক আর আমাদের ক্যাপ্টেন !

আমি বললাম, "এ কেমন মাঠ রে! পা তো ঠিকমতো তুলতেই পারছি না।"

আমানুল্লা মাথা নেড়ে বলল, "হ্যাঁ রে, বলটাও বাউন্স করছে না। মনে হচ্ছে যেন ভিজে পাটের বস্তা নিয়ে খেলছি!"

আমি হাসতে হাসতে বললাম, "একটু কাদায় পড়লেই মনে হচ্ছে কেউ শেকল দিয়ে পা আটকে দিয়েছে!"

আমানুল্লা বলল, "আসাম টিমের ছেলেরা অভ্যস্ত, আমাদের থেকে এগিয়ে থাকবে। তবে আমাদেরও চেষ্টা করতে হবে!"

ONGC-এর ডানদিকের উইঙ্গার খুব রাফ খেলছিল। একবার সে আমার উরুতে বুটের স্পাইক ঢুকিয়ে দিল! যন্ত্রণায় আর চলতে পারলাম না, ম্যাচের মাঝেই বেরিয়ে যেতে হলো। আমার বন্ধু ভাস্করন, যে লেফট উইং-এ খেলছিল, সে অবশ্য টিকে গেল। যাই হোক, আমরা ১-০ গোলে হেরে গেলাম।

আমরা দু'জন থাকছিলাম ONGC কলোনির একটি কোয়ার্টারে কারণ টিমে আমরা দুজন ছিলাম অফিসার বাকি সব ওয়ার্কার, তাই তাদের  জন্য ছিল ডরমিটরি ব্যবস্থা। ভাস্করণ এখন আর নেই ২ বছর হলো ইহলোক ছেড়ে চলে গেছে, সে আই আই টি, মদরাস থেকে পাস করে,আমার চেয়ে এক বছর সিনিয়র, খুব মিশুকে মালয়লি ছেলে !সন্ধ্যায় আমরা পুরো ক্লান্ত হয়ে পড়েছিলাম। ভাস্করন তখন মুচকি হেসে বলল, “একটু OT (Old Tavern whiskey) হলে কেমন হয়?” সেই সময়ে OT খুব জনপ্রিয় ছিল। এক পেগ করে খেলাম, আর স্নান করার পর শরীর যেন পুরো শান্তি পেল।

রাতের খাবারের ব্যবস্থা ছিল ডাইনিং হলে, সবাই একসঙ্গে খাচ্ছিলাম। খাবার ছিল সাধারণ, কিন্তু স্বাদ ছিল অসাধারণ! সুগন্ধি জোহা চালের ভাত আর গরম গরম পাঁঠার মাংস! খেতে খেতে আমি বললাম, “এই খাবারটা যেন স্বর্গের মতো লাগছে রে!” জোহা হলো আসামের সর্বশ্রেষ্ঠ চাল যেমন আমাদের গোবিন্দ ভোগ কিম্বা তুলাই পাঞ্জি l

ভাস্করন হাসতে হাসতে বলল, “হ্যাঁ রে, হারার দুঃখ এই মাংস আর ভাত পুরো উড়িয়ে দিল!”

আজ এত বছর পরও সেই রাতের সেই খাবারের স্বাদ এখনো মুখে লেগে আছে। কিছু খাবারের স্বাদ মনের হার্ডডিস্কে এমনভাবে আটকে যায় যে যেকোনো সময় আমাদের মনের RAM (Random Access Memory) থেকে সহজেই তা উঠে আসে। হারার দুঃখ থাকলেও, সেই রাতের সেই খাবার যেন সমস্ত কষ্ট মুছে দিয়েছিল! আমি কিন্তু এখনও ওই এক্সপেরিয়েন্স আর কখনও পাইনি !
সেদিনের সেই কাদায় দলমল হয়ে ক্লান্ত শরীর,এক পেগ ওটি, ভালো করে স্নান আর শেষে জোহা চালের ভাত আর পাঁঠার মাংশ , জাস্ট ইউনিক!